Monday, June 22, 2026, 56.4* F, 95% RH, 0651
He came home from Vietnam in a coffin. Today, my brother’s birthday. 58 years since I’ve seen him. Gray clouds of yesterday remain. No sun sighted. The stream claimed again the ground she occupied in early spring. Thunder yesterday. 4 hours of thunder that shook the house, gathered discomforted dogs around me, thunder that bellowed “be afraid.” Lightning. Hail like someone throwing rocks against windows. There are no bowls of water in the lawn. The swallowing hole in the space between my car and boulders, filled more than once, reopened.
Only 9 birds spoke into morning: White-throated Sparrow, Gray Catbird, Red-eyed Vireo, Northern Parula, Magnolia Warbler, Common Yellowthroat, Blue Jay, Eastern Phoebe, Ovenbird. Sirens heard this morning, yesterday were fire trucks heading to a house ignited by lightning.
Grief too is a storm raging, a house burning.
Photo: LJ Austin
